


Sunday, Monday, or Always

by roboticonography



Series: Flames 'verse [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Deleted Scenes, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Steve finally get down to it. A deleted scene from Chapter 12 of "Flames We Never Lit." Could also be read on its own if you like your sex scenes free of the encumbrance of a plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday, Monday, or Always

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read [Flames We Never Lit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/437668?view_full_work=true), all you need to know to read this is: Peggy was frozen in the 1940s and unfrozen in 2012, and reunited with Steve shortly after waking. Peggy has gone away to school a few hours outside of New York. Steve goes to stay with Peggy for the weekend and there's a lot of flirting and some feelings and then this.
> 
> Peggy has super-strength. Steve has had some experience with women in the time they've been apart. 
> 
> Oh, and they only have one condom.
> 
> Look at that, I just saved myself 40,000 words.

Steve hooked his thumbs in the waist of his jeans and pulled them down quickly. His underwear was more modern than she’d been expecting; jockey shorts in dark blue brushed cotton.

 

“Nice pants,” she remarked, snapping the elastic lightly.

 

He grinned. “Gonna do something about it?”

 

She was tempted to tease him, to make him wait as he had kept her waiting, but she wanted him far too much to delay. She dipped her hand under the waistband, dancing her fingertips along his inner thigh before taking him in hand. He _was_ rather large, she noted, but—mercifully—only proportionately so.

 

She gave him a slow, experimental caress, up and down. Steve closed his eyes and breathed out in a quick puff, as though she’d winded him.

 

“Oh my,” she said coquettishly, “sensitive all over, aren’t you?”

 

He nodded, eyes still closed. His self-control wasn’t quite as complete as it appeared—a discovery that opened up some exciting possibilities.

 

“How does that feel?” she prompted, twisting her hand a little as she repeated the motion.

 

“Yeah,” he said roughly. “Good.”

 

She kept going with slow, easy strokes, shifting positions so she could kiss him at the same time. They fell into a kind of rhythm: deep, lazy kisses, punctuated by Steve’s soft noises of appreciation, her hand working methodically between them.

 

He squeezed her bottom and pulled her closer, sliding his thigh between hers; she ground against him, grateful for even that small amount of friction. In spite of her earlier impatience, in spite of the fact that she was desperate to feel him move inside her, now that they were finally _here,_ Peggy wanted the moment to last as long as possible.

 

He was rocking his hips in counterpoint now, urgently, rutting against her hand. “We should slow down,” he breathed, his body doing the exact opposite.

 

She tightened her grip, moved her hand faster. “It’s all right.”

 

“Peggy—I’m gonna—” His upper body was covered in a faint sheen of exertion, his thighs slick with sweat. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth hung open; his small, gawky self was so keenly present that Peggy felt quite overcome.

 

“I want you to.” She tucked her face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and nipped at the soft skin there, tasting salt. “Please,” she urged. “Steve, let go.”

 

He gave a low groan, thrust into her hand—once, twice—and came, breathing hard.

 

She held him close through the aftershocks—kissing his neck and jaw, rubbing his shoulders, his back, his sides, until she could feel the tension ebbing from his muscles.

 

“Well, that’s a little embarrassing,” he said, drowsily, his breath hot against her shoulder. “At my age especially.”

 

She ruffled his hair. “Are you saying I make you feel like a schoolboy, Steven?”

 

“Maybe. You made me stain my shorts like one.”

 

“Better that than messy sheets,” she retorted.

 

“How about you, did you…” He looked a bit sheepish, as though he suspected he might be guilty of colossal bad manners in not adhering to the adage, _ladies first_.

 

She shook her head. “It wasn’t about me. That time.”

 

“Well, let’s make it about you _this_ time.”

 

He rolled them both over and pushed himself down to the end of the bed, kneeling between her legs.

 

“Come back,” she implored, petting his hair. “You don’t need to bother with that. Just use your hands. I want to keep kissing you.”

 

“Trust me, I’ll make it good,” he said.

 

It had been Peggy’s experience that all men believed themselves to be talented in this area, while in reality most were not. She’d been led to understand by her school friends that this phenomenon hadn’t changed in the intervening years.

 

Recognizing that tact was called for, she asked, “It’s lonely, don’t you think? You down there, me up here?”

 

He said nothing, but he had the same stubborn look she’d seen on his face a thousand times—albeit never in this context.

 

“Oh, go on, then,” she sighed, leaning back. She glanced at the clock radio and noted the time; she’d give him three minutes, she decided, before taking matters into her own hands.

 

However, it became immediately apparent that Steve was one of the rare, gifted few who actually knew how to use his tongue for something other than bragging about his skill.

 

He licked her lightly at first, teasingly, until she was squirming. His mouth made a filthy wet noise as he delved deeper, pulling her legs up to hook over his shoulders. The world contracted around her—narrowed to this bed, this man, and the way he was making her feel.

 

And the fact that it was _Steve_ here with her, _his_ long hands spanning her thighs, _his_ face buried between her legs, made it all the more incredible.

 

Without letting up, he slowly pushed one finger into her, then added a second, curling them in _just_ the right way without having to be told.

 

Peggy could tell she was still breathing, but she couldn’t seem to get enough air. She was rapidly ascending the peak of her own pleasure, her hands white-knuckled around fistfuls of comforter, her entire body taut enough to snap. “Oh, God,” she murmured. “Yes, _please…_ ”

 

And then, just as it was about to happen, he pulled his head and hands back, leaving an intense emptiness in his wake.

 

Peggy kicked at his shoulders with both heels. “ _Steve!_ ”

 

“I’m not a horse,” he retorted, batting at her leg. “Ease up on the spurs.”

 

She could feel her release slipping away. “Why did you _stop_ , damn you?”

 

He grinned up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you might be lonely up there.”

 

Peggy’s only response was an inarticulate howl of exasperation.

 

She almost cried in relief when she heard him tearing the condom wrapper. Then, lightning-fast, he was back on the bed—but rather than kneeling over her, as she’d expected, he rolled her gently onto her side and settled against her, his erection pressed against her bare backside. He slid one arm underneath her, cradling her against his chest. It felt safe, and gentle, and unexpectedly intimate, considering that they weren’t facing one another.

 

As always, Steve had his own way of doing things, and he never failed to surprise her.

 

“How’s this?” he asked, running his hand over her belly and down, down, the lightest teasing pressure of fingertips where she was already slick, swollen and wanting. Her entire body ached for his touch, but there most of all. “Better?”

 

“I need you,” she gasped. “Inside me. Now.”

 

He slid his fingers into her, thrusting quick and deep. She came almost instantly—she’d been sliding along the edge of it for so long that she simply couldn’t hold fast. She clenched tight around his hand, pulsing, feeling it wash over her in waves. She could hear herself making sounds that would have been acutely embarrassing if she’d had the presence of mind to be self-conscious.

 

“That was a dirty trick,” she told him, when she’d regained her powers of articulate speech.

 

“I thought it was what you wanted.”

 

“I wanted you to fuck me!” she exclaimed.

 

“I did,” he pointed out, waving his slick fingers as evidence. “But I didn’t want to waste my one shot.”

 

He pushed into her then, in a way that would have been agonizingly slow if she weren’t still tingling. As it was, it was just perfect— _he_ was perfect, filling her entirely, stroking every sensitive nerve. When he was in as deep as she could take him, they both let out a loud, simultaneous sigh, and stayed quite still until she was ready to move.

 

Steve let her set the pace: rolling her hips forward to meet his fingers, then back to impale herself on his hard length. She placed one hand over his to guide him, show him how she needed to be touched; with her other hand, she squeezed the rock-hard muscle at the back of his leg, urging him deeper.

 

She was closing relentlessly on her goal for the second time when he began to pick up speed, plunging into her faster, grunting with each thrust.

 

“Not yet!” she protested.

 

He let out a bark of laughter. “ _Now_ you—want me to—be patient? Come on!”

 

What she thought was, _I don’t want this to end_ , but what came out of her mouth was, “Don’t stop. Don’t. Ever. Stop.”

 

He pulled her forcefully against him, gripping her hip with bruising strength. “I won’t, I won’t, I—I—” he panted, helpless, desperate.

 

As much as she appreciated how considerate and tender he could be, the thought of making him abandon all control drove Peggy absolutely wild. She bucked against him, taking him deeper still.

 

He shuddered, and held his breath; he bit her shoulder as he came, and the pleasing sting of it tipped her, quite unexpectedly, over the precipice as well. She cried out, scrabbling frantically at his thigh—she had a fleeting notion that she might be gouging him with her fingernails, but he didn’t seem to take any notice.

 

Afterwards, everything was beautifully still and quiet. To Peggy, it felt as though their breathing must be the only sound left in the world.

 

Steve made a soft, regretful noise as he pulled out of her and sat up, cool air flooding into the space he vacated. Without his body propping her up, Peggy collapsed onto her back in the sweat-damp sheets, feeling nothing but blissful, bone-deep lassitude.

 

She heard Steve padding to the bathroom on bare feet, presumably to dispose of the condom. Then he was beside her again, curling around her, tucking his head against her shoulder.

 

“Was it everything you imagined, darling?” she asked, petting his hair lazily.

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“It was real.”

 

Peggy nodded.

 

“Got the scratches to prove it,” he teased.

 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, embarrassed. “Have I hurt you?” She tried to sit up to look at the damage, but Steve refused to move. “I can’t always control it, you know. And I’m used to your being so much stronger.”

 

“I liked it, actually,” he confessed.

 

They were both quiet for a bit, presumably pondering the vast potential of that statement.

 

“Am I too hot for you?”

 

“Yes, entirely,” Peggy deadpanned. “Too attractive by half.” She moved her palm along the back of his head, brushing the short hairs against the grain, and felt him shiver. “And you know it, so stop fishing for compliments.”

 

He poked her side. “Wise guy.”

 

“You are just a tad on the warm side,” she said, not without regret.

 

Steve shifted to lie on his back, giving her a bit more breathing room. “Your bra’s on the ceiling,” he observed.

 

Peggy glanced up, and sure enough, there was the lacy balconette, dangling from the light fixture. “I don’t expect I shall need it again this weekend.”

 

“I like the sound of that.”

 

“I meant that one in particular. It’s very confining.”

 

“Mm,” said Steve helpfully, his eyes drifting shut.

 

“Don’t go to sleep,” she warned. This was the only full day they’d be spending together, and Peggy didn’t intend to spend it napping. Besides which, they needed to make a run to the drugstore.

 

“Nope.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“Yep.”

 

His breathing was deep, even; the rise and fall of his bare chest was almost hypnotic.

 

“Steve?” she ventured.

 

No reply.

 

Peggy conceded defeat and cuddled into his side, pulling the blankets around to cover them both.

 

There would be other weekends, after all.


End file.
